“No, Mr. Folliard, violence will never do.  On the contrary, you must change your hand, and try an opposite course.  If you wish to rivet her affections upon that Jesuitical traitor still more strongly, persecute her; for there is nothing in this life that strengthens love so much as opposition and violence.  The fair ones begin to look upon themselves as martyrs, and in proportion as you are severe and inexorable, so in proportion are they resolved to win the crown that is before them.  I would not press your daughter but that I believe love to be a thing that exists before marriage—­never after.  There’s the honeymoon, for instance.  Did ever mortal man or mortal woman hear or dream of a second honeymoon?  No, sir, for Cupid, like a large blue-bottle, falls into, and is drowned, in the honey-pot.”

“Confound me,” replied the squire, “if I understand a word you say.  However, I dare say it may be very good sense for all that, for you always had a long noddle.  Go on.”

“My advice to you then, sir, is this-make as few allusions to her marriage with me as possible; but, in the meantime, you may praise me a little, if you wish; but, above all things, don’t run down Reilly immediately after paying either my mind or person any compliment.  Allow the young lady to remain quiet for a time.  Treat her with your usual kindness and affection; for it is possible, after all, that she may do more from her tenderness and affection for you than we could expect from any other motive; at all events, until we shall succeed in hanging or transporting this rebellious scoundrel.”

“Very good—­so he is.  Good William! what a son-in-law I should have!  I who transported one priest already!”

“Well, sir, as I was saying, until we shall have succeeded in hanging or transporting him.  The first would be the safest, no doubt:  but until we shall be able to accomplish either one or the other, we have not much to expect in the shape of compliance from your daughter.  When the villain is removed, however, hope, on her part, will soon die out—­love will lose its pabulum.”

“Its what?” asked the squire, staring at him with a pair of round eyes that were full of perplexity and wonder.

“Why, it means food, or rather fodder.”

“Curse you, sir,” replied the squire indignantly; “do you want to make a beast of my daughter?”

“But it’s a word, sir, applied by the poets, as the food of Cupid.”

“Cupid!  I thought he was drowned in the honey-pot, yet he’s up again, and as brisk as ever, it appears.  However, go on—­let us understand fairly what you’re at.  I think I see a glimpse of it; and knowing your character upon the subject of persecution as I do, it’s more, I must say, than I expected from you.  Go on—­I bid you.”

“I say, then, sir, that if Reilly were either hanged or out of the country, the consciousness of this would soon alter matters with Miss Folliard.  If you, then, sir, will enter into an agreement with me, I shall undertake so to make the laws bear upon Reilly as to rid either the world or the country of him; and you shall promise not to press upon your daughter the subject of her marriage with me until then.  Still, there is one thing you must do; and that is, to keep her under the strictest surveillance.”